


If Your Good Looks Could Settle Me

by 148km



Series: The Glitterbombs of Angry Queers [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Depersonalization, Disneyland, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/148km/pseuds/148km
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Courfeyrac makes a good show of remembering important dates, Enjolras continues his education, Grantaire pushes too hard, and the phrase "facebook official" doesn't cross anyone's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Your Good Looks Could Settle Me

**Author's Note:**

> Every major production has ignored Grantaire's physical description in the book, so I have elected to do the same.
> 
> Content warning for some depersonalization; I'm not sure it would necessarily be triggering to read, but I didn't want to spring it on you with no warning.

Enjolras considers sleeping in that morning and coming in late, but is glad he decided against it when everyone else shuffles into the office like zombies—except for Combeferre, who politely asks them how the traffic was yesterday.  Eponine tells him serenely that they all nearly died and that he's missed out on a crucial bonding experience.  Combeferre doesn't look very sorry to have missed it.

"So when do we get to see the pictures?"

"They'll be online in a couple months, probably," says Jehan.  His temporary tattoo hasn't come off yet.  "I'm confident that they look totally amazing, though.  Ours does, anyway.  Enjolras and Grantaire's, though…"

Combeferre lifts an eyebrow.  "Enjolras and Grantaire…?"

Courfeyrac grins hugely and looks like he's about to explode but Enjolras cuts him off by reminding everyone that they took off early the day before and have work to do.  Having Grantaire come in the other day had been distracting enough—he doesn't need his work life and his personal life to intersect even more than they already do.

Combeferre, at least, is mostly professional and keeps his texting to a minimum.

 **Combeferre (8:46:03 AM):** _You could do a lot worse, R's a great guy_  
 **You (8:46:57 AM):** _We're not really dating or anything_  
 **Combeferre (8:47:28 AM):** _Don't put him through the wringer too much, he's got it bad for you.  E-mailed you the spreadsheet for our VDay traffic, by the way_

Count on Combeferre to bring it back to business.  Enjolras sighs and pulls up his e-mail; he doesn't really understand the spike in web traffic they get around these stupid commercial holidays—well he _understands_ them, he just resents the commercialization of romantic love.  (Speaking of stupid commercial holidays, there's a bouquet of flowers on Jehan's desk that he suspects are _not_ from Courfeyrac.)

Also in his inbox is an e-mail from Bahorel, who's been meeting with other activist groups on the coast as far north as San Luis Obispo.  He reports that he'll be back in LA next week and wants to give a presentation on civil disobedience and police brutality when he gets back.  Enjolras wishes him luck and tells him he's looking forward to it—especially since Bahorel's idea of "civil disobedience" often involves wrecking shit.

The next e-mail is from his mother, who always responds to his short messages with novel-length descriptions of everyone in the neighborhood and at least a paragraph on how worried she is about him living in Los Angeles.  She does actually wish him luck with the new boy, although he has to physically cover his face when he gets to the part of the e-mail where she tells him to "use protection."

Grantaire, to his credit, hadn't pressured him to do anything but kiss the night before—and, tame as it had been, Enjolras decides that he likes kissing Grantaire.  And it's not as if Enjolras hasn't kissed other people in his life and has no basis for comparison—Grantaire is probably the kind of person who puts "excellent kisser" on his resumé.

He realizes he's been staring blankly at his computer screen with his knuckles pressed against his mouth and hopes Courfeyrac isn't looking.  (He isn't—he's only just noticed Jehan's flowers and is pretending to have been to the one to have them delivered.)  He takes the opportunity to unlock his phone and send a quick text to Grantaire.  He spends some time hemming and hawing about how to casually ask him out again, but beating around the bush really isn't his style.

 **You (8:58:34 AM):** _Let's do something this weekend._

If he has any sense, Grantaire is still asleep.  But now that he's texted him, Enjolras hopes he can concentrate on work for a bit.  It turns out that he can't until he adds,

 **You (9:03:58 AM):** _I can't stop thinking about kissing you._

And it's not even embarrassing because it's _true_.  (And, he thinks, it fits the bill for not "putting him through the wringer.")  He finds it's easier to go back to work after that.  He gets so involved in writing a guest article for an asexuality blog that he doesn't hear his text alert go off five times.  It's only after he's uploading the thing to Google Docs and sent it to Combeferre for edits that he even thinks to check his phone for a response.

 **Grantaire (11:12:34 AM):** _oh wow_  
 **Grantaire (11:12:41 AM):** _really_  
 **Grantaire (11:13:09 AM):** _yes absolutely what did you have in mind_  
 **Grantaire (11:12:42 AM):** _actually my sister got me a disneyland giftcard if you want to do that_  
 **Grantaire (11:13:03 AM):** _i know the best spots for watching the fireworks_

Enjolras smothers a grin as he taps out a reply.

 **You (11:38:12 AM):** _Are you serious?_  
 **Grantaire (11:39:03 AM):** _are we just gonna pretend you dont have the space mountain music on your ipod_  
 **Grantaire (11:39:18 AM):** _is that how this is gonna be_  
 **You (11:40:02 AM):** _Just as long as we're clear that just because Disneyland is literally the happiest place on earth that doesn't make Disney's business practices or social messages any less unacceptable._  
 **Grantaire (11:40:51 AM):** _i bet you have an ear hat and everything_  
 **You (11:41:03 AM):** … _three._  
 **Grantaire (11:41:34 AM):** _christ youre like an actual mouseketeer_  
 **Grantaire (11:42:05 AM):** _youre what happens when the mickey mouse club grows up_  
 **Grantaire (11:42:38 AM):** _are you secretly justin timberlake_  
 **You (11:43:04 AM):** _Ha ha, very funny._  
 **Grantaire (11:45:12 AM):** _anyway the haunted mansion is an excellent place to make out just throwing that out there_  
 **Grantaire (11:45:25 AM):** _so thats my official suggestion_  
 **You (11:45:51 AM):** _Very practical.  Saturday or Sunday?_  
 **Grantaire (11:47:03 AM):** _do you plan on being in the office on monday because you wont recognize holidays celebrating racist capitalist etc etc ists_  
 **You (11:47:21 AM):** _Oh, is it President's Day weekend?  Saturday, then._  
 **Grantaire (11:47:57 AM):** _looking forward to it_  
 **Grantaire (11:48:41 AM):** _for the record i cant stop thinking about kissing you either_  
 **You (11:48:56 AM):** _Good._

It is good.  It's _really_ good.  If Enjolras is an exceptionally good mood for the rest of the day, no says anything about it—possibly because they're too busy trying to figure out who got those flowers for Jehan.  (Later, Combeferre will confess privately to Enjolras that he was the one to have them delivered—"Because I knew Courfeyrac wouldn't," he explains.  "Don't tell Jehan—let Courf take the credit."  Combeferre is a good friend.)

By the time Friday rolls around, Enjolras has been asked so many times by so many different people whether they're supposed to come in on Monday or not that he's about to strangle someone.  Although he doesn't believe they should be celebrating the achievements of slave-owners, Eponine points out that most of their business contacts will be closed that day.

"Even the bank and the post office," adds Combeferre.  Finally he relents, promising himself that he'll do as much work as he possibly can from home.

Back at his apartment, he starts packing lunches.  Grantaire will make fun of him, he's certain, but he'd rather not pay $7 for a mediocre hot dog of questionable origin.  (He will, however, indulge in a Mickey pretzel.)  He briefly considers texting Grantaire and asking him what kind of sandwich he wants but decides against it—he can either eat what Enjolras makes for him or take care of his own food.  He's texted Grantaire too many times today as it is.

He wonders if he's supposed to kiss Grantaire when he comes to meet him at his apartment, or hold his hand at the park, or ask strangers to take pictures of them together—oh god there are so many variables relationships are the worst this is why he doesn't do them.  He wonders if it isn't too late to text Courfeyrac and ask him for advice, but then, does he _really_ want to be taking advice from Courfeyrac?

Really there's only one person he should be asking, and that person is going to be showing up outside his apartment in roughly ten hours.  These aren't questions for text messages; he decides to worry about it when the time comes.  When he finally crawls into bed, it feels weirdly too big for him, even if he stretches out on his back.  Without meaning to, he imagines there's someone beside him, slotting into place behind him when he rolls over onto his side, slender painter's hands snaking around his waist and—Enjolras snaps out of his reverie with a wail and attempts to smother himself with his pillow.

He doesn't think that's an appropriate thing to think about someone you've kissed a few times, albeit timidly.  Someone who, until a couple weeks ago, he wouldn't even have considered a friend.  He doesn't know what Grantaire is to him now, and the thought of what Grantaire might want from him is utterly terrifying.

Enjolras doesn't want to want anything.

He's aware of political process and the modes of social change and knows that it's slow going—even the things he's most passionate about aren't really things he wants for _himself_.  He knows that all of the effort he puts into his various causes will mostly benefit future generations.  And that's enough for him; outside of his work with the ABCs, he has no real personal goals.

But now he wants Grantaire to love him, and it feels weird and narcissistic and selfish.  He pulls his sheets closer around himself and curls into a ball and decides to loathe himself until he gets tired and falls asleep, but his phone has other plans.  _Who the fuck is texting me at this time of night, I swear—_

 **Grantaire (12:47:58 AM):** _disney!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.,,.,_  
 **Grantaire (12:48:37 AM):** _sorrrh im al ittle drunkl_

Enjolras rolls his eyes and remembers why it was, exactly, he had never really been close to Grantaire in the first place—but it's a fond kind of eyeroll.

 **You (12:49:57 AM):** _I would never have guessed.  Drink water and eat some food.  Do not be hungover and if you throw up in my car I swear I will actually murder you._  
 **You (12:50:13 AM):** _Also I will not kiss you._  
 **Grantaire (12:51:04 AM):** _harsh!  m not that bad its jst tedxtng is hardf_  
 **You (12:51:48: AM):** _Go to sleep.  Brush your teeth.  Not in that order.  I'm excited, too.  See you in the morning._

Enjolras waits up for a response for nearly twenty minutes, but Grantaire is either taking his advice or has simply started drunk-texting someone else.  He shoves his phone under his pillow and rolls onto his other side—smiling, god help him.

```

Grantaire is late coming to meet him, of course.  "Not my fault," he explains.  "The bus was ten minutes late."

"I figured."  Enjolras isn't bothered—in fact, he'd have been more shocked if Grantaire had been on time.  He gestures for him to come inside.  "I made coffee."

"Great, because I think I might need to drink the entire pot," Grantaire says tiredly as he steps into the apartment.  Enjolras is in the middle of formulating a comment about how he doesn't really look all the worse for wear from the night before when Grantaire moves in and awkwardly kisses his cheek.  He must look pretty surprised, because Grantaire immediately looks down and mutters, "I hope that was okay."

"Yeah—yes.  Yes."  He doesn't know what else to do so he ushers Grantaire into the kitchen and gestures at the rapidly cooling mug of coffee he's made for him.  "You can, um, microwave that.  If it's cold or whatever."

Grantaire ignores him and drinks it all down in one go.  "Can't chug hot coffee."

"No, I guess not."  Enjolras is still nursing his original cup—it went cold a long time ago.  He raises his mug to Grantaire and knocks the rest of it back.

"Anyway, I am decidedly _not_ hungover," says Grantaire.  "Does that mean you'll kiss me?"

Enjolras can't think of a response that doesn't sound incredibly trite, so he smiles in lieu of an answer and hopes he looks suave.  Judging by the look on Grantaire's face, he does.  He puts his now empty mug down on the counter and takes a step forward.

Grantaire is in front of him in seconds, warning, "I'm going to touch you," even as he puts his hand at the base of his jaw.

Two can play at that game.  He reaches around and twines his fingers in Grantaire's hair—it's unexpectedly soft.  He'd just wanted to touch it, but Grantaire's eyes are fluttering, so he must be doing something right.  "Good."

Grantaire uses his hold on Enjolras to pull him forward and presses their mouths together with surprising delicacy.  But Enjolras has been thinking about this too much to let himself be treated like some kind of porcelain doll.  He kisses back harder, worrying Grantaire's bottom lip with his teeth because _god_ it's just _right there_ , what else is he supposed to do?

They break apart at last and Grantaire asks, with mock suspicion, "Have you been practicing with someone?"

"I take good notes."  Emboldened by Grantaire's response, Enjolras impulsively kisses the corner of his mouth once, and then again for good measure.

"You know," Grantaire says slyly, "we don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to.  We can just sit around and…"

Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him.  "And what, you can keep teaching me to kiss?  No, we're going to Disneyland."

Grantaire shakes his head and lets out a little laugh.  "Sorry, I'm still not over the mouseketeer thing.  I never thought I'd see you so excited to participate in the capitalization of children's fantasies."  Enjolras is about to protest that that is _not_ the part he's excited about when Grantaire adds, "Also the part about you kissing me.  But I could get used to that."

Enjolras laughs and manages to sound only slightly uncomfortable.  "Yeah, well.  You should've told me how you felt before now, I didn't think I'd like doing it so much."  He realizes how that sounds and winces.  "Sorry, you probably tried to and I shut you down.  Past me is an idiot, please forgive him."

"Present you can make it up to me."

```

While it isn't _far_ to Anaheim, they run into traffic going through Downey.  Enjolras is starting to wish he'd gone to the bathroom before they'd left his apartment when they cross into Orange County and the traffic mysteriously vanishes.  He keeps doggedly to the left, unreasonably excited about being able to use the carpool lane's special Disneyland exit.

"You realize you're doing eighty…"

"Yes," he replies, not the least bit tempted to ease up on the accelerator.  He's an excellent driver, and any law that keeps people away from Disneyland for even a few minutes is an unjust one.

"Okay, as long as you're aware."

They pull into the parking structure and Grantaire reaches for his wallet to pay the exorbitant parking fee ("Highway robbery," Enjolras mutters under his breath) but is stunned silent when Enjolras hands the attendant a plastic card.

"Is that—"

"Yes."

"You have an _annual pass_ —"

" _Yes_."

" _You_ —"

"Yes, me."

Grantaire shakes his head fondly.  "Is that something your parents pay for?"

"For my birthday," he answers, frowning.  He can feel himself turning pink, which is unacceptable.  "Do I need to remind you that I run a nonprofit organization to make up for my bourgeois parents?"

"Is that why you do it?"  Grantaire's tone is good-natured, but Enjolras senses a trap in the question.

"That's part of it," he answers truthfully, following the carefully laid cones up the ramp to the Donald level.  "A very small part.  Now are we gonna fight about this or are we gonna have fun at the happiest place on earth?"

The silence is tense for a moment but then Grantaire laughs and says, "As much as I love fighting with you, I'll let you enjoy your day."

"Thank you."

"Also, you don't strike me as the kind of guy who gets into angry makeouts."

Enjolras turns too wide into his parking space and nearly scrapes the minivan next to him.  With the car safely in park and the engine turned off, he turns to Grantaire and simply says, "We'll see."

Grantaire nearly trips trying to get out of the car and trails a little bit behind Enjolras as they walk toward the escalators and Enjolras allows himself a little smile.  He may have been clueless about Grantaire's intentions before, but he's not an idiot.  He slows his pace a little and turns to Grantaire.  "Behave yourself, there are children present."

"I promise to only say inappropriate things in a whisper, directly into your ear."

Enjolras rolls his eyes.

For the most part, Grantaire is very well-behaved.  He doesn't sit too close to Enjolras on the tram, and when they walk side by side his fingers only brush against his casually and incidentally.

"Can I just clarify," Enjolras asks quietly in the ticketing line, "This is date number two?"

"Yep.  Not that I'm keeping track.  Casual and laid back, you know me."

"Okay.  Just for my own records.  So now I can officially tell my mom to shove it, it's only the second date."

Grantaire looks at him out of the corner of his eye.  "Why, what did she say?" 

Enjolras makes a face.

"Ohhh… parents, huh."  Grantaire glances anxiously at the line ahead of him—why does it take so long for tourists to buy tickets?—and rubs the back of his neck.  "Listen, I—maybe this isn't the right time to talk about this but—"

"You're right, it isn't."

Amazingly, Grantaire actually drops the subject.  Enjolras reaches over and squeezes his hand to let him know he appreciates it.

"Later," he promises.  His heart feels really full just now, and he's suddenly overcome with a desire to kiss Grantaire's hand, or his shoulder (through his T-shirt, which is weird), or just anywhere, really, but he doesn't think that's really appropriate second date behavior, so he does nothing.  He wonders if this is what it's like to be really into someone.  "So anyway, I'll defer to your superior knowledge here: what are some other good spots, aside from the Haunted Mansion…?"

Grantaire smirks.  "Did that really get you all excited?  Wow.  Um… how do you feel about thrill rides?"

"No. You're asking for a chipped tooth," he says, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Astro Blasters," Grantaire adds after a minute.  "That's a good one.  I still haven't figured out where the camera is, though."

"Oh my god."

"You asked," he replies serenely.  "Of course, that's all assuming you're using tongue.  If you're just—"

"Remember, you said you would whisper."

Grantaire licks his lips and looks like he's about to say something but suddenly they're at the front of the line.  Enjolras stands off to the side, and despite the fact that it took the three families in front of them upwards of four minutes each to buy their tickets, Grantaire's transaction is complete in about forty seconds.  He trots over to rejoin Enjolras, frowning at his ticket.

"It's that furry one from the one about the monsters."

"And you were hoping for Goofy?"

"Pluto, actually."

"Mickey Mouse having a dog makes no fucking sense, by the way, I mean, isn't Goofy a dog, too?"

Grantaire shoots him a worried look.  "We're not even inside the park yet."

Enjolras shrugs.  He supposes it's not entirely unfair that he tone the social justice down a bit if Grantaire behaves himself.  But because he has to have the last word, he says, almost defensively, "I'm just saying, it's messed up."

```

They realize too late that the Valentine's Day/President's Day combo weekend was the absolute worst timing for this trip (date) because literally every other couple in all of Southern California has the same idea.  They're surrounded by teenage couples with no sense of public decorum, most of whom line up to take sappy pictures in front of the stupid heart-shaped topiary set up on Main Street.  Enjolras and Grantaire take one look at that thing and immediately say _no_ at the same time, which makes Grantaire smile.

The crowds are thick—Enjolras, who always walks with a purpose, nearly bowls over a family of four pushing a stroller when they stop suddenly in the middle of the path.  He's about to complain about tourists to Grantaire, but Grantaire isn't waiting up for him.  He's weaving through the crowd and dodging wayward toddlers like a professional, and he doesn't look nearly as aggravated as Enjolras does right now.  When he finally does catch up, it's because Grantaire has stopped in front of the lake to watch the ducks.

"Must be nice, being a duck," he says offhandedly as Enjolras sidles up beside him.  "Swimming around with no natural predators, getting food thrown at you all day?  And you get to live at Disneyland?  Lucky bastards."

Enjolras rests his elbows on the wrought-iron fence.  "It does seem uncomplicated."  A raft of ducks paddles up to them, decides they aren't going to throw any food into the water, and swims away after a minute or so.

"Uh oh, you're making that face."

Enjolras frowns.  "What face?"

"Your Serious Issues face."

Enjolras sighs and runs a hand through his hair.  "Sorry."

Grantaire looks momentarily alarmed.  "No, I just meant—let's get over to the Haunted Mansion and—" He turns a bit red.  "Well I was gonna say something about kissing that look right off your face but now that I'm actually thinking about it, it sounds pretty stupid."

"You just said it, anyway," he points out.

Grantaire winces.  "I know.  Please disregard the fact that I'm a total loser and—"

"I like you," Enjolras blurts out.  He half expects Grantaire to scoff, or demand to know why—he has an argument half planned out in his head—but instead, Grantaire simply gapes at him until finally he seems to recover.

"Come on," he mumbles, taking Enjolras by the hand and all but dragging him toward the Haunted Mansion.  The sign outside the gate estimates a fifteen minute wait, but the line moves so fast they barely have time to appreciate the elaborate exterior.  And Grantaire keeps stealing glances, like he thinks Enjolras might disappear at any moment.  He's still holding his hand.

When they get to the front of the line, Grantaire drops his hand because they have to enter single-file—just as well, because his palms are getting a little sweaty.  He sidles in behind him and stays there as they're ushered into the mansion's foyer.  Enjolras shivers a little as the temperature drops noticeably; it's an attention to detail that he's forced to admire.

" _When hinges creak in doorless chambers; when strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls;  whenever candlelights flicker where the air is deathly still,_ " Grantaire says along with the recording, voice low and directly in Enjolras' ear.  Enjolras shivers again, but for a completely different reason.  " _That is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight!_ "

He smiles to himself as they shuffle into the portrait chamber—he _would_ fall for a Disneyland nut.  Or the other way around—whatever.  Grantaire doesn't stop murmuring the Ghost Host's lines into his ear, and when the lights go out, he plants a chaste kiss on his neck, just below his ear.  It's innocent enough, but it's the first time anyone's ever done that to him and Enjolras feels his face turning pink.  The lights flicker back on and he's glad the lighting's so low in the first place; he doesn't need anyone to see him blushing, let alone Grantaire.

"Ohhh, that was unfair," he murmurs when the doors open and they step into the hall.

"I hope I wasn't out of line," Grantaire says, but even though he's not looking at him, Enjolras can _hear_ him smirking.  He's tempted to elbow him in the ribs, but settles for making a noncommittal noise and pretending to look very interested in the portrait of the woman that turns into a tiger when the fake lightning flashes.  Grantaire squirms a little and then says, "Okay, I actually can't tell if you're mad or if you're just teasing me."

Enjolras looks at him sidelong and then laughs when he sees how nervous he looks.

"Oh, teasing, okay," Grantaire says, relieved.  "So you wouldn't object to me doing it again."

"Conditional."  What he means is _no I absolutely would not_ but he also doesn't want to go back into the office on Tuesday with hickeys—Courfeyrac will never let him live it down.

"I promise not to leave marks," Grantaire says quietly.  "Well.  I'll _try_."

"Do or do not."

Grantaire winces.  "I walked right into that one.  Okay, Yoda, I won't.  Promise."

Enjolras mutters something that sounds like "acceptable" and steps onto the moving platform for the next part of the ride—the part that Enjolras assumes is what Grantaire had meant when he said the Haunted Mansion was a good spot for making out.  They'll be seated together in the dark in a "Doom Buggy" for the next several minutes and, both being decorated Disneyland veterans, neither of them is especially interested in the tour.  And they're sitting in the buggy and oh god Grantaire's thigh is pressed flush against his own and _this is it, it's happening_.

They turn to each other so quickly in the dark that their teeth bash into each other and Enjolras pulls back a little, laughing.  Grantaire, undeterred, uses his hands as a guide and finds Enjolras' neck, his jaw, and finally his lips.  Enjolras kisses him back like he's been wanting to do since the ticketing booth.  He tastes like this morning's coffee.

Enjolras has never kissed anyone in public before—even though they're fairly hidden away, he's starkly aware that someone might see them.  It's not that he's ashamed—far from it—he's just always found young couples that can't keep their hands off each other somewhat annoying.  He's surprised to discover that he doesn't care if other people should see them; all he cares about right now are the lips he's biting and the day's worth of stubble rubbing his skin raw.

He has no sense of how much time has passed since they began, but Grantaire pulls back to point out the hidden Mickey (did he _really_ think he didn't already know where it was?) and Enjolras chases him down for one final, impish little kiss.  Grantaire laughs at him.

"What?"

"Nothing, that's just… that's so you.  Always have to have the last word."

Enjolras opens his mouth to retort but then thinks better of it because he doesn't want to prove Grantaire's point.  The buggy has carried them into the mansion's attic, where the femme fatale bride shows off her handiwork on three beheaded husbands, so instead he makes a quip about "straight marriage."  Grantaire actually snorts.

The buggy descends into the graveyard and neither of them pretend they don't know all the words to the entire song.

When the ride finishes and they come back out into the park, Enjolras discovers he has a couple texts from Courfeyrac.

 **Courfeyrac (10:28:11 AM):** _YOU WENT TO DISNEYLAND WITHOUT ME_  
 **Courfeyrac (10:28:18 AM):** _TRAITOR_  
 **Courfeyrac (10:28:46 AM):** _R JUST POSTED A PIC OF A DUCK ON INSTAGRAM DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE_  
 **Courfeyrac (10:28:58 AM):** _HOW DARE YOU!!!!!_  
 **Courfeyrac (10:29:22 AM):** _I DON'T CARE IF THIS IS A DATE THERE'S ALWAYS ROOM FOR COURF_

"Is Courfeyrac complaining to you about not being invited, too?" asks Grantaire, apparently scrolling through a similar litany on his phone.

"Of course."

"You know, if I were going to invite _anyone_ , it would have been Gavroche.  'Ponine told me he's only been here once and he loved it.  But I don't think he'd want to be around us today."

"No, probably not," Enjolras agrees.  "Also three is a terrible number for amusement parks."

"So what next?"

"Your choice."

"I feel like this is a test," Grantaire says slowly.

"It kind of is.  But still your choice."

"Well… it's 10:30 and like 75° and we're literally right next to Splash Mountain…"  Points for logic and strategic location.  Pass.  "I won't even roll my eyes at you if you go on a tirade about _Song of the South_."

This time he doesn't resist the urge to jab him with his elbow.  "Don't make promises you can't keep, R."

```

Enjolras breaks out the sandwiches as they're standing in line for Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye.  The wait time is fifty-five minutes and he doesn't believe in using a FastPass.

"You packed a lunch, oh my _god_."  Grantaire actually clutches his face in surprise.  "You're so—"

"Stuff it, I made one for you, too."  He pulls out the second sandwich, wrapped in a paper towel, and passes it to Grantaire.  He thinks that this is probably the first time he's ever seen Grantaire speechless—he counts it as a personal victory.

They eat in silence, and when Grantaire looks a little less like he's about to explode, he asks, "Okay, getting-to-know-you time: there are three possible chambers in the temple, right?"

Enjolras nods.  "Earthly riches, eternal youth, and visions of the future."

"So assuming the track wasn't randomized, which would you pick?"

"It's actually the same track," he points out.  "It's just the walls that—"

"Whatever, I'd pick earthly riches.  Answer the question."

"Eternal youth," he answers immediately.  He's given this a lot of thought.

"Yeah, I might pick that, too, if I looked like you."

Enjolras frowns because—seriously?  The first time Feuilly had brought Grantaire with him to a meeting, Enjolras hadn't been able to take his eyes off him (until, of course, he'd opened his stupid mouth and Enjolras had written him off entirely).  "What, dude, you're like—you're probably the cutest guy I've ever seen in my life."

Grantaire blinks at him owlishly.  "That's—that's not how I thought that sentence was gonna end."

"How did you think it was going to end?"

"I thought you were gonna say 'out of all the guys you've dated' or something, I don't know."  He runs a hand through his hair.

"It's not a very long list," Enjolras admits.  "But I meant, like.  Objectively.  Not just because I'm attracted to you."

Enjolras waits for some kind of response, but Grantaire looks like he needs to reboot so he continues.  "Anyway, eternal youth is the most pragmatic choice.  Assuming that it also restores your health, which the murals seem to indicate, you're basically young and strong and hot forever.  You could do anything.  You could bask in your glorious youth forever, if you wanted, even though that would be a huge waste of your gift.  You'd be able to accrue a lot of wealth over time because you live forever, and visions of the future are basically a throwaway, anyway.  You can gain eternal wisdom or whatever by living forever."

"I have to say," Grantaire responds hoarsely, "that wasn't one of your more stirring speeches.  But I get it."

"Did I convince you?"

Grantaire sighs.  "Well, I agree, the visions of the future thing is stupid.  And I guess if you were young and beautiful forever, I would want to be around for that.  Okay, that sounded really weird.  I didn't mean like—in a creepy way, or anything.  I'd just want to see what you'd do."

"See things change?" he prompts gently.

Grantaire swallows.  "I guess."

When they actually get on the ride, they end up in the Observatory of the Future chamber and both of them groan.

```

The fireworks show is cancelled due to high winds.  Grantaire is disappointed, but Enjolras is secretly relieved; the show always manages to make him cry and he's already reached his public humiliation quota for the day.  Instead, they decide to splurge on a late dinner at one of the cafés on Main Street that serves actual food.  It's overpriced, but annual passholders get a discount.  Grantaire agrees to let Enjolras pay for dinner if he gets to buy him another ear hat later  ("With your passholder discount, that is." "Of course.").  Truth be told, Enjolras has had his eye on the mini ear hat collection for a while now… 

In the end, Enjolras chooses the Mickey Mouse design—it's a cute take on Mickey's iconic red pants, with the two little gold buttons up front and a springy tail sticking out of the top.  Grantaire chooses Donald Duck for himself because of course he does.  The cashier offers to open the boxes up when they check out and Grantaire immediately clips it on at a jaunty angle.

It looks ridiculous.  But it's also so cute that it's actually making Enjolras mad.  No adult human has any business looking that cute, it's infuriating.  He kind of wants to shove Grantaire up against a wall and kiss him or steal his wallet or just rough him up a bit—he's not sure which.  Being attracted to Grantaire is the most confusing thing that's ever happened to him.

Because they're not seventeen anymore, they decide to call it quits around 11:30 and walk back to the parking structure rather than wait for a tram.  It's not a terribly long walk, and the path is mostly deserted.  They don't hold hands, but if their elbows brush, or their shoulders, well, who can really blame them?

"Thank you for today," says Enjolras.  "For coming out with me, I mean.  It was fun."

Grantaire nods distractedly.  "Yeah—yeah, of course."

Enjolras makes a face.  That wasn't quite the reaction he'd expected.  "Something wrong?"

"No, I just—"  He shakes his head as if to clear it.  "Earlier—you said you liked me."

"Yes," Enjolras says slowly.  "I did say that.  Did you think I didn't like you?"

"I _know_ you didn't like me," Grantaire says pointedly.  The truth of it makes Enjolras wince.  "And, I mean.  That's kind of my fault.  The only way I could get your attention was to piss you off.  And I _love_ pissing you off.  I love fighting with you."

Enjolras frowns.  "I guarantee that we'll keep fighting."

"That's just it, though.  Everything you hated about me—it's all still true.  I'm still cynical and unhelpful and antagonistic and I don't believe in anything and you hate that."

He recognizes his own accusations being hurled back at him and feels like a door is slamming shut between them.  He feels guilty for having ever said those things (even if they're true), but he's also starting to get really, properly angry.  If he's trying to get a rise out of Enjolras, he's crossed a line.  Picking a fight for the fun of it is one thing, but this is oddly personal, and it hurts.

"Why would you say that?" he asks quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Grantaire shrugs like nothing he said means anything at all.  "I'm just waiting for the novelty to wear off.  You'll come to your senses sooner or later."

Enjolras stops walking.  He's too angry to walk.  "What are you saying."

Grantaire looks mildly concerned.  "I'm just saying, I don't understand what you're getting out of this—whatever this is."

"Are you fucking kidding me with this self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit?  'What am I _getting_ out of this'?  Don't be such an ass.  It turns out that I genuinely enjoy hanging out with you and want to keep doing it even though you're being ridiculous right now.  I thought you wanted the same thing."  As confused as he is right now, Enjolras still feels weirdly comfortable; fighting with Grantaire is at least familiar territory, unlike anything else he's done today.  He tries very hard not to listen to the part of him that's saying _he's just making an excuse, you know why he's pushing you away, he's just trying to let you down easy but it's you, it's all you, it's not enough, it's never enough for anyone_ …  "Is this about this morning?"

His heart drops into his stomach at Grantaire's guilty expression.  "Can we talk about this somewhere that isn't the middle of the street?"

"Fine," he snaps.  He starts walking again and doesn't care if Grantaire keeps up.  They barely even look at each other until they're practically at Enjolras' car in the parking garage.  Enjolras has the distinct feeling that he's ruined the evening, but he's too angry to care—and besides, Grantaire is at least as responsible as he is, if not more.

They get into the car and the silence is deafening.

"You have to understand," Grantaire says finally, as softly as he can manage, "I've never been with someone like you before.  I'm going to fuck up and be inconsiderate and take too much and give too little.  You'll hate me."

"I can decide that for myself," Enjolras says flatly.

"And what about the part where I want to fuck you?"

Enjolras smothers his rising panic with indignation.  "Do you think I haven't thought about that, too?"

"I don't fucking know," Grantaire sighs.  "Shit, I messed up so much.  You're so mad at me right now and _god_ I can't help it, you're so god damn beautiful when you frown like that.  I don't know.  Forget it."

Enjolras thinks he understands—the instinct to push away, to protect yourself before you can get hurt.  Combeferre had told him, after all: _he's got it bad for you_.  Which doesn't make it any less infuriating, really, but at least he thinks he gets it.

"In theory," Enjolras begins deliberately, "that's not necessarily an issue.  I'm not repulsed, I'm just… disinterested, I guess.  _In theory_ , I want to try, just so I know.  I…"  His voice is starting to shake which is completely unacceptable.  "I don't—I can't make any promises."

He tries to convince himself that he's not selling himself out simply to get Grantaire to knock it off.  He _does_ want to know what it's like, why everyone's so crazy about it.  He's wanted to know since he was sixteen.  Theoretically.  But now the very real possibility of actually having sex with someone is staring him in the face and it's terrifying.  He doubts Grantaire would be anything less than gentle—reverent, even—and that scares him more than anything because what if the grand mystery of sex is still a massive letdown and Grantaire takes it personally?

He feels a little dizzy.

"Are you okay?"

"No," Enjolras admits.  He pats his cheeks a couple times because they're starting to feel numb.

"Do you need me to drive?"

```

It's weird to sit in the passenger's seat of your own car.

It's even weirder to have Grantaire at the wheel, who probably doesn't even have a license, blasting the loudest, highest-tempo music he could find on Enjolras' iPod.  He's starting to feel like all his limbs are attached to him again and like he's no longer floating in space and it feels weirdly _good_ , sitting there with his knees drawn up to his chest and with Grantaire silently but aggressively caring about him a few feet away.

He might be a little bit in love with Grantaire.

He definitely falls asleep at one point, because he closes his eyes for a second and then when he opens them again, they're on Enjolras' street and Grantaire is driving slowly around the block looking for a parking space.

"Turn right up here and park in the garage," he mumbles.

"You're awake," remarks Grantaire.  "I figured you'd probably want to just go home."

"Thank you."

Neither of them mentions how late it is and how there's no way Grantaire will make it home tonight if Enjolras doesn't drive him, now that the buses have stopped running.  Enjolras takes it for granted that he'll stay, whether he extends the invitation or not.

They take the elevator up to his apartment, because even though he's feeling better now, his legs are still a little shaky and all he wants to do is collapse into bed.  It takes him an inordinately long time to unlock the door.

"I can call Feuilly to come pick me up," Grantaire says uncertainly.

Enjolras frowns.  "Don't be ridiculous, stay here and I'll take you in the morning."

"If you're sure."

"I am," he says firmly.  "If you want anything, help yourself.  I'm basically gonna take my shoes off and go to bed."

"Bed sounds like a good plan."  Grantaire's eyes fall on the tiny, dilapidated sofa in the living room and his mouth twists into a weird shape, like it can't decide whether it wants to laugh or cry.  "Does that thing fold out?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes.  "Bedroom is down the hall and to the left.  Turn the light off when you're done in here, okay?"  He kicks off his shoes and trudges down the hall without bothering to turn on the light.  He hears Grantaire open the fridge but can't bring himself to care about the possibility of him drinking all the alcohol he can find in the apartment.  He doesn't have much, anyway.

He briefly considers collapsing into bed fully clothed, but at least takes off his jeans and sweater in the end.  He leaves the bedroom door open, curls up with the comforter, and dozes off.  He's awakened some time later by the dip of the mattress on the other side of the bed; Enjolras rolls over a little and gets a face full of Grantaire, crawling into bed and trying to press a kiss to his jaw surreptitiously.  Enjolras permits this and then, even though he can smell beer on Grantaire's breath, kisses him languidly on the mouth.

"Sorry I freaked out.  That's not… I don't normally do that," he mumbles.  It _is_ weird for him.  He's the one everyone counts on to be strong, to bite back at injustice with rancor, to never buckle or back down in the face of adversity.  He spends so much time trying to help with his friends' insecurities that he never gets a chance to deal with his own.  "This is just… it's uncharted territory."

Grantaire sighs and sinks down into the mattress, burying his face in Enjolras' shoulder.  "I'm sorry I pushed you.  I was being an ass."

"I know."  He feels Grantaire smirk into his shoulder.

"Still like me?"

"Yeah."

"I like you, too."

Enjolras rolls back onto his side and lets Grantaire pepper his neck with kisses, and every brush of Grantaire's lips against his skin is _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_.  His breath tickles and his stubble _itches_ , but it's nice.  Grantaire's arm slithers around him and he asks in a whisper if it's okay.  It's more than okay and Enjolras tells him so.

```

Enjolras inexplicably wakes up around seven in the morning feeling totally rested and refreshed.  He's more or less in the same position as when he fell asleep, only all his blankets are gone because Grantaire's stolen them all and made a nest in his sleep.  The sheets are all twisted up around his legs and the comforter actually appears to have fallen off the bed.  Grantaire's back is to him and the T-shirt that he slept in has ridden up, revealing the small of his back and the waistband of his underwear.  His eyes are immediately drawn to it—he wonders what the rest of Grantaire looks like; whether he has scars or freckles or birthmarks that look like shapes.

He wants to kiss him there, but knows it's a bad idea—he'd wake him up, for one thing, and Grantaire would probably misinterpret his intentions.  Instead, he gets up and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  He could use a shower, but he has half a mind to crawl back into bed anyway and lounge around until Grantaire wakes up.  And possibly after that, too.

Enjolras comes back into the bedroom and pulls the comforter back onto the bed.  All the activity disturbs Grantaire, who shrugs deeper into his misshapen blanket cocoon.  Enjolras swallows a laugh and leans over to kiss the little patch of skin where his neck meets his shoulder—the only place that isn't covered by blankets.  Grantaire makes an appreciative noise, but doesn't show any other signs of consciousness.

Enjolras rearranges his pillows and boots up his laptop.  If he goes back to sleep now, he'll spend the entire day in a haze—probably in his underwear—and he does have to take Grantaire back to his loft at some point today.  And besides, global events won't wait for him just because he wants to spend his Sunday in bed with a beautiful boy.

He scrolls through his e-mails with one hand and plays with Grantaire's hair with the other.  He's on so many political action mailing lists, it takes a long time to sort out what's pressing and what isn't.  (This e-mail from Courfeyrac, for instance—nothing but the word "TRAITOR" in capital letters in seventy two-point font—can go straight into the trash.)  He briefly untangles his fingers from Grantaire's hair to reply to a message from Bossuet about housing discrimination laws and Grantaire finally groans and rolls over.

"What'd you stop that for?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

"My people needed me."

"What time is it?" Grantaire asks around a yawn.

"Quarter to eight."

"Jesus Christ, that's way too early to be awake on a Sunday.  Are you gonna make me breakfast?"

Enjolras snorts.  "Keep dreaming."

"Mmmm, I had this dream that I woke up in bed with the most beautiful human being on earth—"

"Ben Affleck?"

Grantaire makes a face.  " _Seriously_?  Hugh Jackman."

"Oh, you're right."

"Of course I am.  Only he looked a lot like you, and sounded like you, and kissed like you."  Grantaire looks up at him wickedly.  "But it was a very specific 'good morning' kind of kiss, I don't know, I'd have to try it with you to make any real comparison."

"You're ridiculous," he says, but he kisses him anyway.

"Yes," Grantaire decides, "just like that.  Also he made me breakfast."

"Sounds like a nice guy," he muses.  There are comments on his blog post but reading them right now is probably a bad idea.  He flags the e-mail notification to look at later.  "Did he bring it to you in bed?"

Grantaire nods enthusiastically.  "Made a huge mess. Crumbs everywhere, jam in the sheets.  He thought it was cute."

Enjolras grimaces.  "That doesn't sound cute at all."

Grantaire shrugs and buries his face between the pillow and Enjolras' torso.  "Yeah well.  Then he let me blow him under the sheets."

"I'm not bringing you breakfast in bed," Enjolras says with finality.  "So you can stop right there."

Grantaire _hmphs_ but is otherwise silent.  He's still for so long that Enjolras thinks maybe he's gone back to sleep but after a while he asks in a small voice, "Do you want to, like… be my boyfriend?"

The question takes him by surprise; he'd always taken Grantaire for a 'fuck labels' kind of guy.  "Do you want to be mine?"

"Answering a question with a question isn't an answer," Grantaire says, wrinkling his nose.  "But if you must know, yes—emphatically yes.  Which is weird for me.  But with you—yes.  Always yes."  He props himself up against the headboard and looks at Enjolras steadily, cheeks reddening.  "Answer the question."

Enjolras sighs and puts his laptop on the bedside table so he can look Grantaire in the eye without straining his neck.  "Yes," he says, because Grantaire needs to hear it and because it's true.  He knows that Grantaire has hangups about being with him, as evidenced by their argument last night.  But he also knows that Grantaire _really fucking likes him_.  And he likes Grantaire.  So if he wants to make a go of it… well, why not?  Besides, he's already kissed him in public and let him sleep in his bed.

"Yes," he says again.

```

 **You (9:23:52 AM):** _Just kidding, I guess we are dating, after all._  
 **Combeferre (9:24:31 AM):** _I raise my coffee mug to you._

**Author's Note:**

> This took a long time to finish, but it's been a busy couple of weeks for me! This part is a bit longer than the other two, so I hope that makes up for it a little.
> 
> If you've never seen the mini ear hats—I have no way to describe them with words they are too cute for that???? [Here's the Mickey](http://www.disneystore.com/mousekeears-mickey-mouse-mini-ear-hat/mp/1316175/1000292/) and [here's the Donald](http://www.disneystore.com/mousekeears-donald-duck-mini-ear-hat/mp/1316177/1000292/).
> 
> I really like [this idea](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/2378337) about what "ABC" stands for.
> 
> I hope this doesn't come as a shock to anyone since I said it in the first part of this series, but they are actually going to have sex in the future. That was one of my specific aims in writing this, because I'm an asexual person in a relationship with a non-asexual person and it was important to me that there was something out there where the asexual character doesn't just suddenly start enjoying sex because their partner is so good at it, or whatever. I can almost guarantee that it won't be titillating at all.
> 
> Also, a note with regards to the characters' physical appearances: I haven't gone into descriptions for a variety of reasons. First, there's the fact that I know everyone imagines a different cast and that's great, keep doing that. Personally, I'm most familiar with the movie cast, which is a little embarrassing. (Don't feel pressured to picture Grantaire as George Blagden even if I am because I'm gross nasty in love with him.) But MOST IMPORTANTLY, because this is set in L.A. they cannot possibly all be white. So just something to think about.
> 
> Lastly, I'm also 148km on tumblr (as some of you have discovered) and I'm tracking both **#148km** and **#the glitterbombs of angry queers** if you want to talk shop—especially since asks have been all weird lately.
> 
> Anyway, I hope we're all still having fun.


End file.
